Bitter
by SydnieWren
Summary: Aizen shows Shinji the meaning of bitterness. Rape, oral, violence. AizenxShinji, AizenxIchigo; implied ShinjixIchigo and GrimmjowxIchigo. Now updated!
1. bitter

**Hey guys, back with more. So, this is a request from Axel, one of my faithful readers! I haven't worked with Shinji before, so I hope I did alright here. As usual, please enjoy, and I'm not too proud to beg for reviews!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Warnings: Angst, rape, oral. **

**Axel, hope this is what you were looking for.**

* * *

_In the desert_  
_I saw a creature, naked, bestial,_  
_Who, squatting upon the ground,_  
_Held his heart in his hands,_  
_And ate of it._  
_I said, "Is it good, friend?"_  
_"It is bitter – bitter", he answered,_  
_"But I like it_  
_Because it is bitter,_  
_And because it is my heart." _

**_Stephen Crane, _'_In The Desert'_**

**_

* * *

_**

Shinji wasn't convinced that 'caught' was the right word to describe his current predicament. He had sacrificed himself, really, to create a distraction that would give Hiyori time to flee - which, for once, she did. Naturally, as any proper sacrifice would result in some trouble, he was 'captured', though he didn't quite feel as though he had been 'caught'. There was more to it than that.

It just didn't seem like it.

He had been in his cell for a couple of days, supposing that the dust was settling one way or another on the outside. Somebody had to win, though he wasn't entirely convinced that either side had a clean line on it. It was just as likely, he supposed, that anybody could burst in to save him at any moment as it was that he would be dragged off to his execution by one of those creepy arrancar.

With nothing else to do, he waited. There wasn't any sense in trying to get out; who would see him playing hero? The place was sealed tight and he was well aware his reiatsu had been limited anyhow. He had no doubt that Aizen had considered and accounted for every possible attempt that could be made at escape. He was just that kind of guy.

If asked, he wouldn't have admitted that he was somewhat worried about what his ex vice captain was planning. The man was capable of just about anything.

And Hiyori. He was still numb to that. Impossible. Every time he thought of it he felt as though he was dreaming, felt as though he would see her again. When he got out of there, he promised himself, he'd get his ass kicked again, take her feet right in the face.

That was what he wanted.

And everyone else.

And Ichigo.

He couldn't begin to imagine what Aizen would do to the boy, but he knew the man had a talent for changing people forever - for the worst. Mercy, however, was not among his many skills nor was it included in his astounding well of knowledge. Ichigo was just a kid, Shinji thought, a particularly badass one, but a kid just the same. Good old fashioned fighting was one thing; Shinji had to hand it to him: he could take a beating. But Aizen really wasn't the sort to stop at a beating for someone who had given him _trouble. _

There was a bed in the room, though he hoped he wouldn't be sticking around long enough to use it for its rightful purpose. Rather, he sat on the edge and leaned back, propping himself up on his hands.

He tried not to think.

* * *

"We're having something of a get-together," Aizen explained, again smugly settled into his throne.

Ulquiorra stood still, awaiting orders.

"I'll need you to bring my guests along. I've invited - Gin, Shinji -"

"Shinji, Aizen-sama?"

"Ah, yes. Room number three, I believe. If not three, then four. He's a thin, tall man with blond hair. He will respond to his name."

Ulquiorra nodded.

"And bring me Ichigo as well - you know Ichigo?"

"Of course, sir."

"Ichigo, and Grimmjow. If you can't find Grimmjow, bring me Nnoitra."

Ulquiorra bowed, and turned on his heels to leave the grand throne room.

"Thank you," Aizen called after him, though his smooth voice only echoed in the the empty stone chamber. The espada never heard it, and even if he had, he would not have known what to say.

* * *

Aizen's usage of the word 'invited' was, of course, misleading. No one was aware of the 'get-together' save for the host himself, as Ulquiorra quickly discovered.

He went firstly to Gin's chambers, steeling himself for the interaction. Like nearly all of the others - with the sole exception being Nnoitra, who seemed somewhat indifferent - Ulquiorra hated Gin. The man had a wicked way of alienating others, slinking around and surprising them with strange and cryptic comments, veiled threats, lewd offers. All of it was evidently some personal in-joke he had with himself, as none of his various suggestions were ever fulfilled. Halibel had, on one occasion, complained to Aizen about his behavior - with the utmost respect, of course - and the Lord of Hueco Mundo had seemed to find it humorous. Gin was nothing but a harmless, mischievous thing, he had assured her, not to be taken too terribly seriously.

The last part Ulquiorra respectfully disagreed with.

Gin typically sensed the reiatsu of anyone who approached his door and tended to emerge to maneuver behind them without their noticing, preferring to sneak up on them and start some odd conversation.

Yet that wasn't the case. Ulquiorra arrived at his door and waited silently for him to appear, but nothing came of it. Disconcerted, he knocked on the vast stone door, and listened intently for some recognition. He expected an enthusiastic welcome, but there was nothing.

It was certainly inadvisable, but Ulquiorra was on orders and tended to be difficult to dissuade: he pushed that heavy monolith of a door open just slightly, enough to peer in and be heard.

Inside, the room was black and seemed boundless. The thin strip of white light which crossed the room revealed only white stone floor until - a pair of narrow, red eyes.

Gin was laying on the floor, staring directly at Ulquiorra with a dark, dangerous look. The espada instinctively took a step back. Faint whimpering could be heard, though nothing more could be seen in the pure darkness.

"Aizen-sama requests your presence," Ulquiorra explained after a moment of hesitation.

"I'm busy," Gin hissed.

"He asked that you come immediately."

"Aizen's an understanding kinda guy. He'll be fine."

"He sent me specifically to bring you to him now."

"Go, Ulquiorra."

The muffled whimpering went on even as the espada turned with undignified haste, closing the door behind him.

The others weren't difficult to collect. Even Grimmjow was surprisingly cooperative, which greatly behooved him: Ulquiorra wasn't interested in dealing with any further frustrations at the moment, and was still somewhat unsettled by the fear Gin had managed to induce in him.

They made a strange crew: Grimmjow hauling Ichigo - wounded enough to at least be quiet - and Ulquiorra, leading Shinji along by the reiatsu limiting collar. Both Vizard's hands were bound behind their backs tightly; Grimmjow took advantage of that fact by pulling the redhead behind him by his arm, periodically dislocating his shoulder before casually shoving it back into place with a sickening sound of bone sliding among muscle and cartilage.

Shinji didn't say anything and he didn't resist. He followed along silently, tensing when Ichigo yelped in pain.

Ulquiorra was entirely unsure of what to do when they arrived at the throne room. Aizen hadn't given him particularly clear directions, and, while he knew the man was up to something indecent, he couldn't estimate the choreography of it. He gestured for Grimmjow to lead both of the captives ahead of him, so that he could motion to Aizen things they couldn't see.

Aizen locked eyes with him. Ulquiorra shook his head. _No Gin. _The shinigami smirked faintly and glanced to the side, musing. He supposed he did owe Gin something of a honeymoon, considering that he'd let him take the blonde captive. All he had intended was to give Shinji a little regression into some painful memories, but Tousen wouldn't agree to it anyhow, and it was still possible without Gin. Aizen remained unfazed, motioning for Grimmjow to bring both Ichigo and Shinji to his throne.

He stopped them before Grimmjow pushed them to ascend to the high platform upon which the throne stood.

"Show the boy," said Aizen, "to the side." A vague motion to the right of the platform informed Grimmjow, and he roughly pulled Ichigo to that place, that dark, cold place in the shadow of Aizen's throne, and brought him to his knees. He was out of their sight then; the lord relied on Grimmjow's bitterness and malice to keep the boy subdued, though neither he nor Shinji could see the pair.

Ulquiorra hung back, near the doors which, upon Aizen's unspoken command, had closed. If there was an order, he would be ready to receive it. Hands in his pockets, he waited.

Aizen's attention, however, was then purely on Shinji. He straightened from his languid pose as he peered down at the man he had once looked up at.

"It dismays me, Captain," Aizen spoke evenly, "that we must meet again on such terms. I should have liked things to be quite different. Yet, here we are." He ended on a sigh, and then, with a wave of his hand, invited Shinji to ascend the stairs to the throne.

Shinji stood still.

"Nutty as ever, eh Sousuke? Now you've got a fancy chair. Not my style but I'll give you credit anyhow."

It was that damn nonchalance that Aizen had hated him for, not only in his general character but specifically with regard to _him. _

"I think you've misunderstood me, Captain. Let me make something clear. Grimmjow?"

A grunt echoed from the hidden side of the platform.

"Encourage our guest."

A strangled cry broke out, and it was Ichigo. Shinji blanched.

"Knew you were crazier than you looked, even now," he spat.

"Grimmjow?" Aizen called again.

Another broken shout of pain, muffled then, by something.

The Lord of Hueco Mundo gazed down at his prisoner, eyebrow quirked, quite satisfied with his particular form of persuasion.

"I won't venture to assume that the boy is a virgin," Aizen mused, gazing intently at Shinji, "but whether he is or not is, in this case, inconsequential. Grimmjow has rather peculiar _anatomical _attributes" - a short, sharp laugh came from the shadows - "that would render the whole matter - well. I can speak for Ichigo when I say he would very much appreciate your cooperation."

Shinji's heart pounded. Aizen was capable of anything, sure, but he hadn't thought of anything like this. Having him torn apart by wild arrancar vultures with hundreds of thick teeth? Possible. Letting one of the espada use him for experimental target practice? Probable. Killing him? Almost certain.

But this was - unspeakable.

Shinji began to ascend the stairs to Aizen, trudging along with slumping shoulders.

_Nothing I can do now._

That was to say, he realized there was nothing he could do for his situation, and he wasn't exactly sure that he could really do anything for Ichigo's. Rules laid out by Aizen didn't seem particularly reliable to him. Grimmjow was a loose canon in any case.

He reached the throne with his hands in his pockets, slouching. Aizen sat before him, a satisfied, serene smile lightening his disarmingly soft eyes as it often had. Shinji's memory was immediately called upon. Aizen was always deadliest when smiling.

"What do you want, Sousuke?"

He heard his voice echo on the stone.

"I'm afraid our roles have changed, _Shinji,_" Aizen replied calmly, "I am called _Aizen-sama_."

"My bad, _Aizen-sama._"

It didn't surprise Aizen that Shinji was insolent. He always had been. There wasn't anything compliant or hesitant about him, which had always been frustrating as his vice captain. In a sense, it was offensive: how could anyone stand before his throne like it was a street corner when it was an altar?

"On your knees, Shinji."

The blond stilled and thought about arguing, but there was that bastard in the shadows, he could hear him whispering something sinister, chuckling, and the boy whimpering. Aizen cocked his head to the side as though amused.

"Grim-"

"No," Shinji broke in, lowering himself to his knees on the white marble, "fine, fine. Voila."

The words '_so now what do you want?_' died in his throat.

He knew what Aizen wanted anyhow. He just wasn't going to start things, wasn't going to give in before he was forced to. Again, he waited.

"Come to me, Shinji."

So spoke the Lord of Hueco Mundo, and in his voice was an ethereal depth that echoed in the white stone cavern and in the mind, that was as endless and boundless as his person, something inhuman, something that could not be contended with or fully understood.

On his knees, Shinji crawled to him, head bowed.

"I made you what you are," Aizen told him, slipping his fingers beneath his captain's chin to bring their eyes to meet.

Shinji clenched his jaw and said nothing.

"I remind," Aizen went on, "these children of mine all the time: I made them what they are. And you see?" He turned his head to face the edge of the platform beneath which Grimmjow presently held Ichigo captive, "there isn't anything they wouldn't do for me. And I love them. I suspect you won't cooperate with me, Shinji, but I also believe," he began to stroke his cheek, bringing the pads of his deft fingers from his chin up his jaw, "that you can be persuaded."

The speech ended as abruptly as it began, and the blond closed his eyes as the rustling of cloth he had entirely expected followed. The high arms of the throne, frigid slabs of pale marble, obscured the process.

"Go on, Shinji. Look."

Aizen was amused when the Vizard lifted his eyes firstly to lock with his own. He smirked, aroused by the knowledge that Shinji was still indulging in rage and indignity and disgust, despite the petty uselessness of it all.

"We'll come to that," he murmured with a dark paternal gentleness, stroking his captive's hair, "_intimacy. _Look ahead now. Go on."

Shinji supposed there wasn't any sense in putting it off any longer, waiting for some kind of miraculous intervention. Maybe Kensei would burst in, or Love, Rose, anybody, Lisa, maybe some of those damn arrancar who were tired of his very situation would start an uprising, maybe Aizen would just roll snake eyes and be unable to get it up. Happens to everybody sometimes.

Not that time. Not any of it. Oppressive, eerie silence created and reigned over, manipulated and perpetuated by Aizen-_sama. _

It was an awkward motion, straightening on his knees and pulling himself up by the arms of the throne for a better angle. As Aizen had demanded, he looked downward, into his lap, and stared blandly. For some, it would have been aggravating to force such torture on someone only to have them react like seasoned prostitutes. Not so for the shinigami. Draining the vitality out of Shinji was something he hadn't even accomplished with hollowfication. It was only then, with his ex-captain hesitating before his sex, that he seemed truly and finally hollow.

A few more minutes followed, and, without warning:

"Grimmjow, -"

But before he could finish the command, the boy was whining deep in his throat, a broken sound suggesting the trailing fringes of puberty, intermixed with reluctant, burnt out tears.

Shinji straightened immediately and trembled; the sound wasn't ending, Ichigo was in pain, he couldn't imagine what the espada was doing, the boy was crying, _he didn't cry, _but he _did _cry, weeping, - was that begging? -, and god, it continued on, wouldn't stop, his thoughts raced, what - what to - how to make it -

He dipped his head down and took the tip of Aizen's cock between his lips, sucking with more enthusiasm - a dreadful, burning enthusiasm - than most of his lovers had known. Practiced fingers threaded into his hair, urging him forward with a gentle insistence, massaging as one would a willing participant.

Ichigo's voice ceased, replaced by nearly silent weeping, and Shinji's own labored breathing, only through his nose.

"Good, good. Very good."

Aizen pushed it deeper and gave a slight start.

"You've pierced your tongue. Mm, very good. You have - mm, - _talent, _captain."

Suddenly those fingers twisted in his hair sharply and forced him forward, meeting him with an equally hard thrust. Aizen didn't stop even as Shinji's chest burned for breath, even as he squirmed weakly, his own breathing and Ichigo's life locked in contest in his mind. Darkness had just begun to shade his vision when he was released - only slightly - and he took the opportunity to gulp in air.

"We aren't through," Aizen reminded him, as if the presence of his rigid cock resting on his tongue wasn't enough to make him aware.

Hoping that he could avoid force if he replaced it with his own vigor, Shinji returned, bobbing his head up and down, eyes squeezed shut, gulping in choked breaths as his knuckles whitened on the arms of the chair to steady him as he moved.

"Suck, Shinji," Aizen moaned, "_I _can fuck you. Suck."

It was a threat, and so Shinji tried to obey. It only obstructed his breathing, but he thought of Ichigo, wondered if he was receiving the same treatment - it made him sick - and so he did suck, his cheeks dragging along the shaft of Aizen's cock with every stroke.

The shinigami was running his fingers through blond locks, praising with a tender touch, almost comforting.

Shinji gagged, halting his movement for a moment as he tried to settle himself as quickly as possible, swallowing a couple of times and taking a deep breath.

"That won't help you," Aizen murmured, as though in secret, "gag yourself if you'd like, Shinji, but I am a patient man, and I haven't ever been deterred."

His stomach turned and he blanched; a cold sweat had long since settled over his skin, and he shivered in the freezing, vast chamber. He became aware then that he could hear the echo of his own ministrations - a faint slurping and his hindered breathing, little grunts now and then - and he again clamped his eyes shut as if to drown it out.

Drown it all out.

Aizen was holding him by both hands then, one grasping his shoulder tightly and the other still tangled in his hair, forcing him closer and closer. Shinji could feel tears at the corners of his eyes, and he thought he could taste their salt - but they hadn't fallen, and the taste was Aizen, close to the edge.

He moaned rhythmically, quietly, as subtly and cruelyl as anything he ever did.

"Swallow," he hissed sharply, and Shinji was steeling himself to obey when he felt the torrent of warmth at the back of his throat, choking him; he wanted to cough, _needed _to cough, but Aizen's cock was thrust firmly inside, and he waited, tears finally falling, for him to withdraw.

At length, his mouth was empty save for a thick chemical taste. His jaw ached as he brought his lips together; they trembled against one another, stretched to cracking at the corners. Again, Aizen was stroking his cheek.

"How does it taste, Shinji," he asked, bringing his fingers up to smooth the tangles out of blond hair.

The Vizard finally allowed himself to cough, but let nothing fall to the floor.

"Does it taste bitter?" Aizen went on, "Do you like it?"

Shuddering, he ran his sleeve over his lips.

"You will like it," came his Lord's assurance, as tender as any declaration of love, "they all do, in the end."

Shinji wept, finally, and shook his head, _no, no. _

_Anything but this._

"You didn't think I would, did you?"

He hadn't.

"You expect more."

He did.

"You're right."

He sobbed.

* * *

Thanks for the read, and please review! And if you wanna request something, I'm always all ears. Love you guys!


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey fellas! So, it's been a while for Bitter, but I finally got the time to update. This second chapter is also the result of a request, though I am open to a third. A big part of how I evaluate whether or not to continue a fic is by looking at favs/reviews, and Bitter has a lot of favs and reviews for such a short fic! I myself thought it was a bit of an unusual pairing, but I am very happily surprised that so many of you have enjoyed it! So without further ado, here is Bitter pt. 2. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
**

**Warnings: Non-con, a lot of it.  
**

* * *

I found a pigeon's skull on the machair,

All the bones pure white and dry, and chalky,

But perfect,

Without a crack or flaw anywhere.

At the back, rising out of the beak,

Were domes like bubbles of thin bone,

Almost transparent, where the brain had been

That fixed the tilt of the wings.

**Hugh Macdiarmid, 'Perfect'**

* * *

"I can walk," Shinji spat, and Grimmjow sighed, impatient, utterly bored with the task of shuttling Aizen's prisoners to and fro.

"Then _walk,_" he growled, his grip on Shinji's upper arm tightening dangerously. The vizard picked up the pace, his mind still fairly swimming.

"Where's Ichigo?" he asked after a moment, inflecting his question with nothing more than vaguely transparent curiosity. Grimmjow shrugged.

"Beats me."

"Weren't you just diddling him?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Grimmjow sneered and shoved Shinji over the threshold of his cell, a deceptively vast chamber with plenty of room to pace and ruminate.

"You could leave a guy with some pleasant thoughts," Shinji groused, turning his back to the Espada in case his face should come to betray his thoughts. "I've got a lot of down time in here, y'know."

"Wouldn't waste all my energy beating off, if I were you," Grimmjow snickered, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. "Don't think for a minute Aizen is done with you."

It was the note he left on. Shinji sank down onto the edge of his bed, still neatly made, and expelled the contents of his stomach – equal parts bitter yellow bile and pale froth he attributed to Aizen – onto the pristine white floor. The convulsions continued on long after there was nothing left to offer.

* * *

"Get up."

Cold water splashed over his face and caught in his mouth and nose, waking him in a fit of coughing. Shinji only realized that he had somehow fallen asleep when he sat up sputtering. When he regained his focus, Ulquiorra was posed beside a rolling metal cart, having evidently emptied one of the glasses of water as a wakeup call.

"Could've just said rise and shine," Shinji muttered, sweeping the remaining droplets away from his eyes. He stood, joints popping and muscles protesting, and fell in step behind Ulquiorra, who was already on his way to the door.

Unlike Grimmjow, Ulquiorra was a man of few words. Whether or not he received any satisfaction from his work was mysterious to Shinji. It seemed impossible that he felt anything at all, loyalty included; but the ex-captain had always been an eminently clever man, and he dared not hint at rebellion under such circumstances, though the thought did occur to him.

The corridors had changed. That much was clear. Shinji's spatial memory was enough to imprint, roughly at least, his recently traveled pathways, and from the pale sheen of the stone to the direction of the main halls, he could discern that the structure of the place was different now. Infinitesimally so, but different nonetheless. Ulquiorra navigated them as though he had known them all his life, his long cloak flowing behind him.

Shinji arrived in a room unlike the one he had spent time in yesterday. A long, pale table split the chamber, and Aizen sat at one end in a high-backed chair, sipping tea. Ulquiorra ushered him to a seat at Aizen's left, and produced a saucer and cup of clear, steaming tea. Shinji peered down into it, skeptical of its contents, and sensed eyes focusing on him.

"What?" he asked blankly.

Aizen was as serene as always, half-amused and entirely self-possessed.

"I thought you were fond of tea," he remarked evenly, raising his own cup to his lips in consideration. Shinji shrugged noncommittally.

"Tea's okay," he replied, "tea parties, not so much."

He became aware of something clasped in Aizen's hand, though the captain handled the object so smoothly as to render it barely noticeable. It appeared to be the end of a length of cord, though the other end of it stretched passed the seated guest, to the other end of the conference table. Shinji's eyes drifted down the long expanse of it, though he made a considerable effort to seem unaffected. It became clear to him that his discovery was meant to be a display. The cord snaked on over the pale, cold surface of the table until it wound into a series of knots around Ichigo's bound hands, stretched over his head as he stood bent at the waist, his cheek pressed against the marble. He was naked from the waist up, and blindfolded; Shinji did not hold out much hope that he was clothed from the waist down.

A stinging coldness sank into the pit of Shinji's stomach, and his mind swam. All manner of tactics came to mind, trying to split the cord, distracting him somehow – but to what end? He resisted the inclination to hold his head in his hands, and instead peered back blankly at Aizen, who seemed to be patiently awaiting his response.

"I assure you that your friend is quite alright," Aizen intoned. The depth of his voice startled Shinji even now, when he knew he should not have been surprised by anything that issued from the man. Shinji shrugged.

"Hope you wipe the table down before you eat off of it," he answered flatly. Yet today even his dismissiveness seemed to make no impact on Aizen's subtle, cool demeanor. He merely smiled, very slightly, and traced the rim of his cup with his fingertip.

"You perform well under pressure, Shinji," Aizen observed, emptying the last of his cup before placing it decisively before him. "Would you like to have him?"

Shinji sat extremely straight, extremely still, his eyes pulled toward Ichigo but focused intently on Aizen. He raised an eyebrow.

"By _have,_" he drawled, "I'm guessing you mean _rape_."

"I was under the impression that you've made love before," Aizen replied, and here Shinji was cornered. His lips formed a thin line and he shrugged noncommittally.

"Gonna have to pass," he said at length.

"Very well," Aizen agreed, with a note of false resignation, "then I will not keep him waiting."

The Lord of Hueco Mundo stood smoothly, stepping around the table, squeezing Shinji's shoulder with mock paternalism as he passed. As he strode toward the end of the table he wrapped the length of cord around his hand, spooling it in his palm until he stood directly behind Ichigo, who trembled visibly, albeit soundlessly.

"I must praise your good taste," Aizen remarked pointedly, the pads of his fingers sweeping over the small of Ichigo's back. They ventured lower, and Shinji felt a cold sweat break out over his neck and shoulders as Aizen locked eyes with him. Ichigo's backside and thighs sufficiently caressed, Aizen spread his legs slightly, and sought out his entrance with that same soft touch. Ichigo was strong enough to remain silent, but when Aizen's fingers found his entrance his jaw clenched tightly, and he jerked against the table. Shinji shot up from his seat as if on cue.

"What the hell do you want?" he demanded, rounding his heavy stone chair and throwing his hands in the air. "Huh? Come on Sousuke, be a man! What the fuck do you want from me?"

Aizen smiled serenely, his palm coming to rest flat on Ichigo's back.

"From _you_, Shinji? Are you offering to take his place?"

Shinji's hands came down and carded through his hair. He found himself laughing, quietly, bitterly. Surely, he thought, surely he had died, and this was hell. Surely this man had never walked near him, never sipped sake beside him, never emptied his outbox of mission reports. It had to be unreal, a manifestation of nightmares in some other dimension. Aizen waited patiently.

"Yeah, sure," Shinji sighed at length, "yeah, why not?"

How he hadn't known this was leading up to his own torture was beyond him. He chided himself for not realizing the shape of things sooner. He watched as Aizen slid calmly out of his long, white coat and draped it over the prone boy. The long black cord was unknotted from his hands, and he slowly stood, shaking on his feet, assisted by Aizen. Shinji was startled when Ulquiorra passed by him, evidently having been summoned by some cue unnoticeable to the vizard. He escorted Ichigo out, still blindfolded, and Shinji remained rooted to the place he stood, suffused with cold fear.

"Come, Shinji," Aizen commanded, and the blond obeyed, unwilling to tempt the other man into bringing his hostage back in. He paused beside Aizen, still, gazing up at the ceiling. It seemed boundless. Aizen's knuckles trailed slowly down the curve of Shinji's cheek.

"On your knees."

"For fuck's sake, what is it with you?" Shinji muttered, sinking to kneel.

Immediately the back of Aizen's hand connected sharply with his temple, blurring his vision for a long, painful moment.

"That is the last instance of insubordination that I will tolerate, Shinji," he warned, his fingers coming to tangle in pale hair. He did his ex-captain the courtesy of untying his belt and loosening the ties of his hakama. Already his sex was half-hard as a result of his rather intimate moment with Ichigo. Shinji gulped and screwed his eyes shut, bringing a hand up to grip Aizen at the base. For his part Aizen did not make a sound. He looked on, passive and fully composed, as Shinji drew near and, with a breath, took the tip of his sex between his lips. His sex hardened fully in response, and the blond even earned a shudder when the smooth metal of his tongue stud made contact with the underside of Aizen's cock.

"Very good, Shinji," came the resultant purr; Shinji felt his stomach turn, but dutifully carried on, rising a little on his knees for a better angle. Somewhere along the way he became possessed of the hope that this would all end quickly. Aizen disabused him of that notion with a gentle tug on his scalp.

"Stand," he commanded, and the lingering fingers in his hair twisted into a grip.

Shinji rose to his feet glaring warily. He had some idea of what would likely follow; being wise now to Aizen's particular brand of cruelty, he steeled himself and drug the back of his hand over his lips.

"Lean over, Shinji."

How he remembered, despite his efforts not to, the subtle suspicion he had once felt toward the man who now undressed him. What he had thought was uninhibited ambition, what he had feared was uncanny aptitude - had all the while been evil. Aizen's fingers breached his entrance with little ceremony and moved inside him. Shinji stood still and rigid, his forehead pressed tightly against his forearms. A choking tightness formed in his throat and he struggled to breathe around it.

It was only when Aizen's broad hand traveled up over his ribs that Shinji realized how frigid the room was, and how dry the air. It was like a tomb. Shinji shivered, Aizen murmured something too low to discern, and then he was sheathed inside his ex-captain. Shinji gasped and arched; it burned, seared, the pain coursed through him in sparks and throbs. He recognized the liquid dripping lower on his thigh as his own blood, and bit down on his tongue to restrain his cry.

Aizen stroked his back, tracing the knots in his spine, and forced him down against the table. The man's rhythm began and then changed, leaving the blond unable to adjust or predict what might come next; moreover, he seemed capable of lasting indefinitely, showing no signs of peak nor plateau. Somehow each thrust inspired new pain; Shinji continued to bleed and Aizen moved inside him with calculated brutality, steadying his hips now and then for particularly deep, sharp thrusts.

One of them finally wrung a cry from Shinji, half-scream, half-sob. Blood dripped from his lips and caught in his throat. Aizen, unseen, reveled in the sight of it, having always been fond of the admirable way in which Shinji comported with defeat.

A few hard, jolting thrusts preceded the spread of stinging warmth inside him. Shinji faintly heard Aizen's pleased groan, laced with words of praise, and then the man's hands were stilling his hips to withdraw.

"Very good, Shinji," Aizen commended, "almost perfect."

"Fuck you," Shinji ground out, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the surface of the table. Presently he no longer had any preferences concerning his own fate. He flattened his palms and pushed himself up on trembling arms, cracking the joints of his neck as he struggled to regain his composure.

"Don't take my mercy for granted," warned his captor, now dressed and fully self-possessed. He stood near the door of the chamber and spoke in low tones with someone outside. And then, looking over his shoulder, he smiled. _Yes, _he was saying, _have his sword prepared as we discussed. _

* * *

**That's all for now, folks! I have quite a lot of time on my hands to write these days, so let me know if you're in the mood for anything in particular. Thanks for the read!  
**


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